


I'm Sorry Every Song's About You.

by CoffeesForFuckers



Series: Gay Boys Doing Some Gay Shit [10]
Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: AU, Based on a Fall Out Boy Song, Cause FUCKING WORK, Cute, Fall Out Boy Lyrics, Falling In Love, Future love, Happy, I MUSENT BE STOPPED ON THEIR ACCOUNT, I'm gay, Kissing, Love, M/M, Members of Fall Out Boy, Mentions of Suicide, Minor Trohley in the background, PLeas read this I worked really hard on it, Past Love, Pete Wentz is a sap, Pete is a fuckin SLUT for Pat, Pete is trash for Pat, Peterick, Random - Freeform, Sad, Song Lyrics, We're all gay, anyway, but i mean, can't my bosses see I HAVE A TALENT, every song is about you, i was up till 4 am writing this, jk I suck and I need money for concerts, mentioned like once, nothing major, thank you, this is gay, trash, who isnt, yeah - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2017-07-05
Packaged: 2018-11-23 18:01:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11407632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoffeesForFuckers/pseuds/CoffeesForFuckers
Summary: Pete Wentz is too in love with Patrick Stump to actually say the words out loud so he just spills his guts into albums (Eight to be exact). But there's always one special song in an album that is in no way subtle in saying "I am in love with the tiny not-so-punk-man singing this song"But for a brilliant man, Patrick Stump sure is a motherfucking oblivious idiot.





	I'm Sorry Every Song's About You.

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY NATIONAL FALL OUT BOY DAY!!!!  
> I CAN'T BELIEVE AMERICA HAS A WHOLE DAY DEDICATED TO FALL OUT BOY!!  
> WOW!!!!!!

_ I’m sorry every songs about you. _

Those words echoed in my mind, it was something Patrick never knew. Seven completed albums with songs all about him, soon it would be eight. The Fourth Of July was the most important song to me, and the date was my least favorite.

This song spilled my heart out into a crappy song. It was just like Death Valley and the one ‘special’ song from each album. Each special song wasn’t just my feeling spilling over onto a paper, they’re the story of the most important moments with him.

Let me start from the beginning.

|||

It all started when Patrick asked me to join the band all the way back in the summer of 2000. He said that my writings would be put to good use, and that’s when ‘ _ Pretty in Punk’ _ was brought to life. 

_ So many kids but I only see you. _

_ And I don't think you notice me... _

That lyric was from when I first noticed Patrick when we were in Freshman year of high school. He was in some band as the drummer at the time and I was in some screamo band, obviously I was the lead.

He watched me get off the stage and the first thing I knew is he was thinking I was a prick, saying to his friend who was the singer in the band, "He stands alone because he's high on himself.”

His words were harsh and I definitely overheard them as he got on the stage.

I stood alone because I had nobody to stand next to, I mean I wasn’t the most well liked human around obviously. I was in a screamo band that played in the same old shitty basement of the same old shitty sports bar every week but I mean, he was always here with his band and he that meant he couldn’t be any better.

(Of course I’m wrong, little did I know at the time, the tiny man could play any instrument and speak any language you threw at him with his beautiful fucking face, and he also had that perfect singing voice and lungs of steel on top of it all. He was a fucking catch.)

It was July Fourth when he approached me with his proposition.

“Hey, screamo guy, Wentz is it?” He steps up to me, trying to be taller than he was. He may’ve had longer legs than me but I was still taller.

“Pete Wentz.” I say and he nods.

“Patrick Stump.” He replies. I knew that because I had not ‘ _ stalked’  _ per-say but I did my research.

“Yeah, what’s up?” I question, looking down ever-so-slightly at him.

“You play anything?”

“Like sports?” What kind of question was that?

“No dipshit, instruments. Do I  _ look  _ like I’d be asking about fucking  _ sports. _ ” Man he was really hot. I was a slut for him.

Not really but you get it.

“Yeah, bass, guitar, little bit of piano.” I shrug, “Why?”

“You want to join my band? I need a bassist.” He says blatantly. This is the type of dream I’d been waiting for.

“Yeah! Of course! Sure.” I nod frantically, “I also write music and stuff a lot if you needed any songs.”

“Songs…? Oh! Yeah! Songs, we need lots. Like an album worth.” He nods, “Maybe you can put your writings to good use and make the songs, I’ll make the melodies.” 

“Okay. Sounds good to me.”

/|\

My anxiety liked to rear it’s ugly head at the worst of times. Like the time we were getting ready for our first ever gig. I could just about vomit.

Patrick plucks at his guitar strings, not a care in the world. We weren’t close, not nearly as close as I’d hoped even after three years had passed.

“Would-... Would you mind if I sat next to you?” I speak and he looks up at me with those big blue eyes.

“I don’t mind, go ahead.” He smiles and all my worry seems to fade.

_ Would you mind if I sat next to you and watched you smile?  _

And the song was made with that lyric, it’s all I needed. Pretty in Punk. The small blue-eyed man in some stupid clothes, playing music much too heavy for his personality, the first song written for  _ my  _ pretty boy dressed in punk.

|||

Patrick was my saving grace by the end of Senior year. Everybody around here sucked. (Other than Joe and Andy, of course).

I was living off of his happiness.

_ You were the last good thing about this part of town. _

That lyric had come and gone through my head in multiple varying ways, most too advanced or too bland. That was perfect, simple, straight to the point and not as painfully obvious as some of the other ideas I’d had.

My phone rings at three in the morning, that had been happening more often than I pleased. Always Patrick crying over the same boy.

“Pete!” He wales into the phone.

“What happened this time, boo?” I mumble half-asleep into the receiver.

“He- He said… He said that he didn’t l-... Love me! He called me a slut!” He bawls and I huff, it hurt to hear it, “He asked why I couldn’t just be- be… Happy with what-... What he already g-... Gives me!” 

“Awe, Pat…” I sigh, “You need to break-up with him… He’s like poison to you, if you don’t give him up, you’ll wind up dead…” I hated listening to him cry, I just love him.

“No! I need him!” He hiccups, “I love him, Pete.” Ouch…

_ You need him. _

_ I could be him… _

I’m not even the slightest bit subtle. 

But he’ll never catch on.

|||

It’s the summer of 2005, July Fourth to be exact, and I’m standing outside of the hotel we’d been staying in and Patrick is stood on the edge of the balcony in his room.

“What are you doing!? Get down! You’re going to fall!” I shout up to him.

“Good! I hope I do!” He calls.

“What the fuck are you talking about!?”

_ “I’m just the man on the balcony!”  _ He sings,  _ “Nobody will ever remember me!” _ He’s crying. I knew he’d been a bit off lately but not to the extent of suicide.

“Patrick! Just step back into the room! I’ll be up soon, just please!  _ Please _ ! Go inside!” I pleade.

“No!” He shouts.

“Patrick!  _ Please _ !” I cry out.

“Why should I!?” He’s sobbing, swaying at the edge and making me nervous. Where the fuck were Andy and Joe?

“Because! You’re the only reason I’m even alive right now!” I admit shakily, “I  _ need  _ you, Patrick!”

He seems shocked but he steps down and goes inside. I run up the stairs as fast as my legs could carry me. Patrick is sitting on the floor in tears, I don’t say a word and just hold him, wrapping my arms around his plump body and I just sit there with him. It’s a long time before either of us say anything, hours actually.

He tells me how worthless he feels, useless, pathetic, stupid, good for nothing… Every word that comes from his mouth is untrue. My chest begs to spill all the words that come to mind when I think of him but my brain uses logic and better judgement to tell him all the things he is to everybody and not just to me. I sit and watch him as he listens to me, not believing a single word.

“Patrick, trust me, you’re perfect. You take whatever you're given and make is a million times better… That’s more than I can say,  _ I only want what I can’t have. _ ”

He nods and rests his head on my shoulder, “I bet that’s not true, Pete, I know that it isn’t.”

It’s more true than he could ever realize.

And “From now on we’re enemies” was born.

|||

By ‘ _ Infinity on High _ ’ I was struggling to hide the fact that I was violently and painfully in love with the short lead singer that I wrote album after album about, he obviously was blind, not noticing all of those little things that were shoved into every song that I stole from our lives. 

It caused a lot of tension between us, not that I was keeping secrets, he didn’t even know that I was really. It’s just that it was becoming hard for me to do anything involving him without wanting to scream my love for him from the top of my lungs.

My little fantasies becoming too strong that I ended up not even writing a full album confessing my love in some weird, fucked up way, but rather one song where I basically just shout that I love him and hope he gets it.

Yes, the other songs did have their moments where I spilled my guts into a line or two or maybe a whole verse or two but mostly they were bone dry of my emotion, saving it up for a bonus track that would barely even be heard.

I toss and turn in bed, my mind spinning from the thoughts floating through. Patrick. Just everything about him made my chest hurt and body weak. He turned me to mush just by existing. 

My mind plays back the swaying of his hips, you know, the thing he does on stage where he kind of grinds his guitar. I could never tell if it was on purpose or if he was just teasing. And the leg thing he does to keep to the beat, well, that’s how it started but now it was just a thing he did because it was habit, like when a person bounces their leg while sitting or drums on things with anything they can, just a subconscious tic really.

I also think of the way he says things or when he speaks in any of those languages, especially French. The way he moans in his songs, as if it were the best sex he’d ever had. 

I can’t help but to imagine here and there either, the way he moves, but on me this time, or just for me. Lips pressed close to mine.

_ I've loved everything about you that hurts. _

I try to _ trade baby blues, for wide-eyed browns _ , anything that doesn’t belong to him but it doesn't stop me from  _ sleeping with his old shirts _ that he’s left here. They somehow still smell so much like him, so sweet. 

_ And I've traced your shadows on the wall. _

_ Now I kiss them whenever I'm down... _

It’s nights like these, the ones with thoughts like those, that  _ it gets so bad that I almost pick up the phone. _ Nights like these I almost tell him.

|||

This album is the one I couldn’t pour my heart into. I was rapidly losing Patrick. He and I were unable to communicate anymore.

_ I can’t remember, _

_ The good old days. _

He was bitter and hostile over nothing in particular.

_ I  _ was bitter and hostile over the fact that I was in love with my best friend.

_ My mind is a safe _ with all the secrets I’ve compiled into it in the past nine years of knowing him. It would feel so dirty to let it all out even if it would relieve the tension that repelled us like magnets.

_ If I keep it in we all get rich _ . If I let it all out then it ruins everything that we built.

I watch Patrick often. He’s not happy anymore. He’s not Patrick anymore.  _ Are all the good times getting gone? _

_ They come and go and come and go. _

I missed when Patrick was a happy person, when his smile made butterflies soar within me. I miss when he’d hug me for no reason other than he just was happy. I miss when he’d get close to me, like the kind of close that’s way too close.

I just miss what he used to be.

What  _ we  _ used to be.

And that makes me realize,  _ if home is where the heart is, then we're all just fucked. _

|||

In the studio on July Fourth of 2007 when everything explodes. It’s a blur in my mind. Patrick and I screaming at each other. Joe and Andy had left hours ago, their parts were done. I was trying to help.

“You fucking idiot! Look what you did! It’s gone!” He yells over a song that he had been piecing together. It was an easy fix but he was at the end of his rope and it looks like he just hung himself with it, “You can’t do anything right! Agh! This is why I hate you!” He yells and slams his fist on the mixing station.

“Fuck you, Patrick! I try so hard to fucking please you but all you do is bitch! You’re never happy with anything! No wonder everybody leaves you!” I know I was harsh but I was having a breakdown and my mind was collapsing on me, “I would fucking leave too! I would never miss you if I fucking left either!”

“Then why the fuck haven’t you!?” He cries out with his fists balled at his sides, “Just leave already foc fuck sakes!” He slams me back into a table, causing a candle that was lit to hit the floor and light an old curtain ablaze. This triggered the fire alarms and the sprinklers go off.

The fire goes out without our aid and once the sudden sense of panic leaves, Patrick begins to laugh. Not nervous, iffy laughter, but full on, head thrown back, barely able to stand, can’t catch your breath kind of laughing. And he looks so beautiful.

He looks so happy.

So  _ good… _

_ We are alive _ here in this moment.

That’s when I kiss him.

The past nine years of feelings spill out and not onto paper this time, all over Patrick himself as I slam him up against the wall and kiss him with my all. My all isn’t enough to convey the way I love him.

Nothing is enough for him.

He’s kissing me back.

_ ‘Cause we are alive, _

_ Here in Death Valley. _

Which is where I push my love down your throat and you push your frustration out through it in the form of lying through your tongue.

_ But don’t take love off the table yet… _

_ ‘Cause tonight, _

_ It’s just fire alarms and losing you... _

I think it’s love, with the way you are with me, the way we are together for a while, almost a real couple, until you stop the calls and texts and the band breaks up.

/|\

That song is so special that I wrote it three years in advance. In the three years while Patrick did his thing and Joe did his and Andy did his and I didn’t do anything…

All that I ended up doing was failing in the one thing I thought I could fucking get right.

Down a bottle of pills and fall asleep.

Why was I an idiot?

Though, that incident brought me close to Patrick again, that incident brought me to the recording studio where I had to listen to Patrick blatantly sing about the night he left me high and dry after (somewhat) admitting that I was in love with him.

He still didn’t get that it meant more than nothing.

For a brilliant man, Patrick Stump sure is a motherfucking oblivious idiot.

|||

And finally it all brought us here. To the song where I give up hiding the little things in it and flat out say that every song is about him.

It was the fourth of July, 2013. Him and I were laying out on my roof. The sky was bright that night, the fireworks hadn’t begun quite yet.

Patrick wraps an arm around me and slides close and I look at him in shock. He smiles at me, “It’s cold.” He mumbles.

**What if I kissed him?**

My mind instantly jumped and I shook it away.

“Yeah it is.” I agree so he’ll stay close.

_ You are my favorite "what if". _

_ You are my best "I'll never know". _

We lay like this for far too long. The fireworks come and go and he’s still there. He’s still there as if he’d never left.

_ I said I'd never miss you... _

_ But I guess you never know… _

I just wish he knew how much it hurt for him to hold me and not feel anything.  _ I wish he cared enough to know _ .

/|\

We’re in the studio, it’s July of 2015 when we finally get around to making a new album. This is when I finally get to have the only song that matters framed forever with his beautiful voice.

I’d struggled with the bridge more than I’d like to admit. But either way, I knew Patrick would make it work and it’d be beautiful (and forgotten) as always.

I sit out in the mixing booth, watching Patrick through the glass, He holds his headphones on his head with one hand, his phone in front of him with the other to read the lyrics.

“I wish I'd known the ways to word it… I wish I tried enough for you... Oh, I'm sorry every song's about you… The torture of small talk…  With someone you used to love.” He got it to sound amazing but he shakes his head, waving a hand around slightly, “No… I-... No.” He makes eye contact with me and I can tell this finally made him realize.

“What’s up?” I ask.

“It’s not that the lyrics are bad but I-... Could I try something?” He practically begs.

“Yeah, go ahead… You’re the singer, doesn’t matter to me.” And I was dismissed.

“Okay.” He steps up to the microphone again and regains his position from before.

“Whenever you’re ready.” I nod and start the track again.

“I wish I'd known how much you loved me… I wish I cared enough to know… I'm sorry every song's about you… The torture of small talk, with someone you used to love.” He gives a thumbs up and I can’t function enough to do just about anything.

Joe steps in and turns the track off and the recording.

“Is that okay? I’ve had that for a long time… It was supposed to be for my solo album but it didn’t fit.” Patrick chuckles weakly.

“Like Miss Missing You?” Andy chimes in.

“Yeah, just like that, but these lyrics meant more to me.” He stares at me as he says it. I shiver as if he’d just poured ice all over my body.

“It’s close to midnight and I’m exhausted, Patrick, please don’t do the ‘ _ it’s not perfect _ ’ thing,  _ as always _ , and fucking make us stay here all night.”  Joe scolds.

“I think that’s good for tonight. You guys can leave. I’m going to stay and mend some loose ends.” He still watches me as he speaks.

“Okay, well, peace out fuckers.” Joe holds up a peace sign as he leaves the room.

“I’ve gotta go before Joe leaves me here again. Bye guys!” Andy hurries after his lover, leaving Patrick and I alone with a glass barrier between us.

He stares at me for a long time, and I stare back.

Eventually he breaks his gaze and pulls off the headphones and hangs them off the mic stand. He gingerly makes his way to the door and pushes it open, stepping into the mixing room with me.

“So…” He mumbles as he steps looks at the floor, body turned in my direction as the door clicks shut behind him.

“So…” I hum back, looking up at him from my seat.

“All those songs really are about me?” He asks, playing with his small hands.

“Well, yeah… It was pretty obvious.” I huff softly at the dumb question. Of course they were about him, who else would I write any of that about!?

“I just… I thought I was overthinking it.” He shrugs, “I never saw you as one to fall in love with someone like me, especially a boy at that.” He murmurs.

In all the years I’d known him he didn’t even know I was into boys.

“I heard a rumor…” He starts and pauses, “A really long time ago… Freshman year of high school actually… I heard a friend, of a friend, of a friend had heard that Pete Wentz was a boy who liked to kiss boys. I thought, maybe I’m not the only one. Maybe I’m not different. So I followed you around… You weren’t like any of the boys that have ever liked to kiss other boys that I’d ever seen so I thought that it couldn’t be true… But I continued to follow you and you seemed like a prick but, you were a pretty cute prick so it was okay… Then I asked you to be in my band and you always wrote songs about people, people that I assumed were not me… I… I’ve always wanted them to be about me and I’ve always wanted to kiss that boy that a friend, of a friend, of a friend told me about that also happened  to like kissing boys.” He rambles on and on but I hold onto each word as if it were going to be his last.

“And I knew that you were a boy who liked to kiss other boys that were not like me, and also were not me, so, I spilled my feelings into words on pages that barely made any sense, half hoping you’d get it and half hoping you’d never take a second glance at it.” I say, “I’m a boy, who just so happens to like kissing a boy that he’s hopelessly in love with… A boy named Patrick Stump.”

His baby-blues meet my wide-eyed browns.

And his toned pink lips meet mine.

There are no fire alarms or sprinklers or losing him.

Right now it’s just him and I, Patrick and Pete, together with our mouths connecting like the land with the sky, colliding like the moon and sun, fitting like broken halves that found each other.

We found each other, we are all of it, we are more than the songs written for each other, we are us. 

Patrick and Pete.

Pete and Patrick.

No longer alone, with the songs to bind our words.

_ ‘Til death do us part. _

As a future promise.

But right now, here with my eyes closed and Patrick on top of me I realize, I never have to write a song to numb the pain again because now I don’t have to bottle it all up inside, I can just tell him.

“I love you.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I got this idea on the way to work at 5 and then was like fuk and I got home at 11 and refused to sleep till it was done and here it is 4am and I'm still up posting my trash, you are welcome.


End file.
